Pastor John
by Burnout'83
Summary: In an AU universe, Sarah is never released from the mental hospital. After some wild years, John trains as pastor. At the age of twenty-six he's working in a small Rust Belt community. One evening, a thirteen-year-old girl hitchhikes into town. She says she looking for her father. She has green eyes, just like his mother's. Cameron is looking for the girl.
1. Chapter 1

It was past eight O clock. The evening breeze was moving the air, the dust and asphalt on the road hadn't yet started to cool. When Cassie brought the girl into the diner, everyone froze like a snapshot, with their knives and forks in their hands, or with their blueberry muffins, hand to mouth in mid-air, and they stared at her. Cassie said she'd picked the girl up hitchhiking into town on the North Road. So far she hadn't said a word, except she'd wanted to talk to Pastor John.

The girl was about twelve years old, slightly tall for her age but she was skinny-ribbed for her height. A welt on right bicep was mottling to a dark bruise, the color of an angry storm cloud. A gash on her forehead had almost healed. Her arms were sunburnt, and her hair dark hair was tied back in a ponytail. Her jeans and gray T were dusty and dirty. Her sneakers were scuffed and holed and she wore no socks. Everything hung off her; oversized or a bad fit. When she first sat down at the table, she stared into the middle-distance and gulped one glass of water down, and then another.

Pastor John ordered her a roast chicken breast and fries.

When the waitress put the plate on the table near her, she reached over and picked up a handful of chicken breast and pushed it into her mouth, and she carried on like eating like that.

The folks at the nearby tables were either stunned or suffering in polite silence. Some sniffed because the girl hadn't had a shower, perhaps in weeks. It was like a feral child that had been brought indoors for the first time. She was wild as a bobcat. When John coughed to get her attention, and he asked what her name was, she looked up at him with her green eyes and swallowed another mouthful of fries with a gulp before she spoke.

"Amber."

"Amber what?"

"Just Amber."

She took another bite out of a handful of chicken.

"Where are you from Amber?"

"No place you'd know. Can I have some more water please?"

John brought a pitcher over and placed it on the table in front of her. Ice cubes and a slice of fresh lemon bobbed top of the water, and the ice chimed and tinkled when it bumped the side of the glass. The girl picked the lemon out with her dirty fingers and chewed it. After about five seconds, she made a sour face, pulled the mashed-up segment out of her mouth and dropped it on her plate.

"Jeez, it tastes like battery acid! "

Pastor John took off his Jacket hung it on the back of the chair. He sat down in front of the girl and rolled up his shirt sleeves. She watched him with her green eyes. It was the first time he'd seen her look slightly afraid.

"You act like never tasted lemon before," said John.

The girl shook her head. "Never going to again, I swear. How do you even eat that stuff"? She made a weak, forced laugh and her cheeks flushed a little with embarrassment. A ripple of murmurs spread around the dining room, Pastor John eyed around the other diners until they went back to going through the motions of eating their evening meals. The girl's accent was hard to pinpoint. It could be West Coast, maybe LA.

"You been on the road long, Amber?"

"Seven days, seven nights. Kinda Biblical, isn't it."

The girl clasped both of her hands around her water glass and stared into it.

"Do you parents know you are out here?"

"My mom will; she'll be 'round here looking for me already. I'm going to be so much trouble when she finds me. She'll go full Judgement Day on me, I'm telling you. "

"What about your dad?"

Amber shrugged. A little smile crossed her face like she remembering a happy time or hoping for one.

"I came out here to find my dad; I want to meet him for real. Did you ever feel that you wanted to meet you father? Is your mother still alive Preacher John?"

The girl's manner was deliberate and overfamiliar. He'd seen it before in LA and every other place he'd worked. Most kids who'd had learned to hustle for their next meal acted like this; they second- guessed their marks. It was their way getting things they needed, desperately. When you're wearing rags and your belly aches with hunger as if a big hand is squeezing out your guts day and night, and you don't have a place of shelter, you don't have much time for morality. There had been places where girls younger than this were dragged around the streets by pimps. Preacher John sat back in his chair, took a long, hard look at her.

"What does your mom do Amber?"

"She works security."

"As what?

Amber sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "She works here and there. Say, do you have a room I can sleep in tonight, Pastor John?"

She tilted her head and screwed up her dirty face and became waif- like as if she was about to burst into tears. John had seen this trick a hundred times before. It's an act, and all some kids have between themselves and terrifying night on a pavement or a roadside. All you can do is understand and forgive, try to help.

John let out a sigh; Cassie was standing behind the girl shaking her head, mouthing the words "Call the cops." John Put his hands together and interlocked his fingers, and he stared at them for a while. It getting dark outside, the only bed the local police would have was in a cell. By midnight the cells would be full old whiskey-drunks and the few meth heads who had drifted in this town on their way someplace else.

"How old are you Amber?"

"Nearly thirteen. I swear, if you let me stay, I'll do some stuff in the morning like clean."

John swallowed. He'd made his decision.

"Chrissie, you think you make up the camp bed at the chapel-house living room for tonight?"

Behind the girl, Cassie gritted her teeth and shook her head. Every inch of her body said, don't do this."

John folded his arms and stared Cassie out. She held up her arms to say what the hell are you doing?

John smiled a deliberately wry smile and nodded.

"I'll take that as a yes then Chrissie. Amber, you can stay until tomorrow morning. One night, and I want you to promise, tomorrow, we are going to talk what you are going to do, and agree you'll do it, "said John.

"Okay."

The girl scooped the last fries from the edge of her plate, shoved them in her mouth and licked the grease off her finger ends. Then she stood up. She seemed to go dizzy, and John caught her before she collapsed headfirst into the table.

The bath was running upstairs. In about five minutes it was going to be a long hot soak for a filthy teenager. In one of the charity clothing bundles, John had found a pair of sports pants and a sports top that would fit her. He's put clean towels out for her. Chrissie held a mug of coffee in her hand and watched the girl through the crack in the kitchen door into the chapel-house living room.

"What's she doing now?" whispered John.

"She's picked up the photo of you mom off the mantelpiece, and she's looking at it real hard, studying it."

"Chrissie sat back down at the table and kept her voice low. John, I've worked with kids like this. She's looking for any weakness. Next thing it'll be you know, it'll be 'my grandma looked like that,' and try to she'll sucker you in. You know I haven't always…exactly…gone to church. Trust me; I know what she's doing."

"I haven't 'exactly always gone, to church either."

"You 're a twenty-six years old man John, what if tomorrow, the first thing she does is make allegations against you? She needs money; you're wide open to blackmail. "

"Would you believe her?"

"No, of course not but I'm not leaving you on your own with her. I'll go back and feed Bouncer and come right back here. I can get up early and let him out in the morning. "

John was about to ask, 'where are you going to sleep?', but there was the sound of a motorcycle coming up the dirt track to the chapel.

John went into the living room. The girl was sitting on the camp bed staring at the photograph. John pulled aside the curtain of the living room window. The headlight shone in through the glass. The rider killed the engine and dismounted. It was a woman, she took off her helmet and shook out her long dark hair. She was petite and pretty.

"Just let her in. No point in me running, it's my mom. I'm busted," sighed Amber.

Three bangs on the door echoed down the hallway.

"Just let her in, she'll break down the door if you don't."

John put out up his hand. "Wait a minute, this is the house of God, and nobody walks in here and starts anything with anyone. This is a place of safety and sanctuary. I'll talk to her. Amber, what's your surname?"

"Phillips."

Amber grabbed his arm looked up at him with her sparkling green eyes; she was crying this time. Little tear streaks were washing off the grime on her face.

"I'm so sorry about this. For what it's worth, I want you to know, I like you,"Amber said.

There were another three bangs at the door, booming as loud as field cannon fire. Jon rolled up sleeves again and straightened his shoulders.

"Right, Mrs. Phillips," John said under his breath.

"Don't, worry hon, Pastor John's good with difficult situations. I'll make some coffee," said Chrissie.

John opened the door. The woman was wearing a leather bike jacket and she carried two crash helmets, by the chin straps, in one hand. The bike was a black Suzuki Hayabusa. The engine plinked as it cooled in the night air.

Mrs. Phillips was much younger-looking than he'd expected. If Amber hadn't told him was her mother he would have said she was in her early twenties, she had brown eyes, soft, dark brown eyes. She wasn't smiling, more like scowling. She had the girl's features, except for the eye color. If pushed he'd, say it was her older sister. She looked him up and down from head to toe and then stared, hard, into his face. John leaned against the doorframe and scratched the stubble on his chin.

"Can I help you?" Asked John.

"My daughter is here, isn't she?"

It was a harsh voice for a delicate woman.

John shrugged. "Let's say she is, I don't know what game you are playing, but I don't believe you are her mother. You're not old enough to be 'Mrs. Phillips', her mother. Besides, this is the house of God, and nobody comes in here shouting the odds."

The woman glared at him, the grip of her hand increased on the helmet straps, and her arm shook. The spasm lasted a couple of seconds then she flash of a smile fought against the austere expression on her face, the corner of her mouth twitched, and then the smile lost the struggle. She held out her hand; she had a very firm grip. John was the first to let go.

"It's Miss Phillips; Cameron. That is my daughter. I have to take her home. I am very sorry for the disturbance she's caused you."

"Actually, she's no trouble."

"If that is the case then you won't mind if I talk to her."

Cameron held out the crash helmets. John half reacted as if he was going to take them off her. He realized what he was doing and stopped. But in that fraction of a second, she'd moved, and sidestepped him. It was like a powerful gust of wind had moved him out of the doorway, and he was now standing where she had been moments earlier. She put the crash helmets down on the chairs in the hallway. He boots echoed off the floorboards as she stomped towards the living room. The electric light in the living room was blinking on and off, casting wild, Frankenstein-freakish shadows down the hall.

Before he'd shut the front door and reached the living room John heard Cassie's voice. "Excuse me, but you can't come in storming in here like that, Mrs. Phillips."

"Mo-ho-m, this is so embarrassing," said Amber.

"I'm not letting this girl go anywhere with you; she's clearly terrified." He heard Cassie say.

By the time John reached the living room, Cassie held her arm protectively around Amber, and she was hugging her. Water dripped from the ceiling. The light bulb was fizzing and crackling, and spluttering out light. He'd forgotten to shut off Amber's Bath. John raced upstairs and turned off the tap. The bathroom floor was flooded, his socks were soaking. The argument was blazing downstairs in the living room. Amber was yelling "I don't care, I want to see my DAD!" When the bathroom floor was dry, John took a very deep breath, glanced up to heavens and made his way back downstairs.

The room smelled of a struck match, the plaster of wet ceiling, and the saturated wooden floor, a candle that was lit and burning over the mantelpiece. Water dripped. Cassie had moved her bed to a dry space near the window. Cassie and Cameron and Amber were standing in the kitchen with their arms folded. It seemed as if Amber and Cameron were practicing for the national staring-each-other-out completion from two sides of the kitchen table. Amber was still holding the framed picture of his mom.

Cassie caught his arm and whispered in his ear, "Told you she was trouble."

"Excuse me, do you mind if get to the other end of my kitchen?" John side-shuffled his past the staring contest and poured coffee. As he put the cup to his lips something cracked against the kitchen window, then the top of Cassie's head exploded into blood and fragments of bone splinters which splattered over the white tiles surrounding the sink.

A very powerful hand pushed John onto the floor. Amber was already down there. There were glass splinters, blood, and bits of skull bone on the floor. Cameron turned out the light and pulled a Glock pistol out of the back of her leather Jacket. Cassie was dead on the floor by the kitchen door. It was like someone had smashed the back of her skull out with a ball hammer.

Amber crawled up to John and grabbed hold of him with one hand by his shirt. She was staring hard into his eyes.

"Don't worry, mom will deal with this, I promise," Amber said.


	2. Chapter 2

Sometimes I Feel Like The Worst Mom in the World

The moon was nearly full, and it was as bright as a torch. The timber frame of the window cast a thick cross-hair shadow onto the kitchen cabinets on the opposite wall. Candlelight flicked in through the living room doorway. Cameron held her hand out for them to stay down. John was on all fours. He couldn't move a limb, and he was shuddering. His teeth chattered, and he couldn't open his mouth or stop his jaw trembling. Amber put her arm around his back and hugged him.

"Mom, do something he's going into shock."

Another bullet cracked in through the glass; it thwacked into the wooden door of a kitchen unit and the crockery shattered inside the cupboard.

Cameron shot a glance out of the window and quickly pulled back behind the kitchen wall. She smiled to herself, let out a long sigh and pressed her the side of face against the wall. "Relax, it's human, one hundred and twenty-five yards, it hasn't even the sense to start moving position."

Cameron crouched in front of them, blocking john's view of Cassie's body. Her eyes were hard, her expression devoid of emotion, cold as hell.

"Was that your girlfriend behind me, John?"

John tried to open his mouth, but his jaw had clamped shut. His mouth and throat prickled like a cactus was rammed down it.

"I said, 'Was that your damn girlfriend behind me?' Answer me!"

John swallowed and shook his head.

"F..ffriend," he managed to say. It was almost like having a mouthful of dental anesthetic. Whenever he shut his eyes, in his mind's eyes, he saw the image of Crissie's corpse, clearer than if his eyes were open. Maybe he should bthrow up? But he didn't feel sick. Cameron's voice brought him back to the here and now.

"Now let me guess, her ex-husband collects hollow-point bullets and high-caliber hunting rifles, and he's the paranoid crazy-enough-type to get it into his head that you and miss-deadhead here were having sex?"

John nodded.

"We're you, in a… relationship?"

John shook his head. Cameron turned her attention to her daughter and glared at her.

"Right, now you. Did you know where John was going to be tonight?"

Amber's faced hardened. She spat out her words. "Fuck you! Just fuck you, leave him alone will you I'm sick of this. All I wanted to do was see my dad. I haven't even got a real mother, what I got was you, and I hate you!"

Cameron took a long stare at the Glock in her hand. Amber grabbed hold of John and tried to get as much of her body between him and Cameron.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Just don't kill him, mom, please, don't kill him."

"Tell me why the hell not."

Amber hissed her words through her clenched teeth. "Because it wouldn't make any difference now. Things have been changed. "

Cameron nodded and stood up. She pointed to on the red laser dot of light that was dancing over the door of one of the kitchen units. She looked up made two fingers like a gun and pressed them under her chin.

"I'll tell you something you can do that will make a difference, Amber: you get out there, take out miss- deadhead's boyfriend and make it look like suicide, while I think what to do and clean up in here."

Amber glared at her mom.

Cameron deliberately walked in front of the window. Womph! Above the sink, behind Cameron, shrapnel fragments of white tiles scattered across the room. She stepped calmly to the side, out of the beam of moonlight falling through the window. John cold smell the plaster dust in the air it settled on his face and stung his eyes. Cameron wiped her hand over her check and picked out a splinter of white tile. A trickle of blood welled up from the wound like she'd been spiked in the cheek by a thorn.

Another round exploded into the plaster of the back wall.

"I said, GO, Amber. Whenever he sees me, he thinks I'm John. That's why he's potting at us."

Amber was about to crawl off, but John managed to unfreeze his arm and her grabbed her wrist. He forced himself to speak.

"Nn…no…you…re… n…not… killing… ann…yone. "

"Shut up, you have no idea, "said Cameron.

"I… s…said…Nn...NO!"

Cameron let out a sigh of frustration and ran her hand through her hair. She stared at the floor for a few seconds and tapped a piece of a piece of Crissie's skull bone and her hair under the table with the toe of her boot.

"Scrub that, just incapacitate and disarm him for now—is that alright with you pastor man— no one else gets killed here tonight?"

John shook his head. Amber let go of him, and she knelt down in front of him. Her eyes pored into him like his mind was a glass fishbowl. Her hand brushed over his cheek.

"Don't worry; I'll be alright. I have to go, but I promise I'll be back, soon," said Amber.

Before Amber scrambled out over the linoleum and through the living room doorway, she took a long hard glance back at Cameron. This argument wasn't over between them.

Cameron crawled over to Cassie's body. She fished out her packet of cigarettes and a lighter from Cassie's jacket pocket. She lit one up, took a deep drag and exhaled. She pulled the cloth off the table and covered her body with it. A rosette of blood spread out through the fabric where it draped over the top of her head. The air smelled of her blood and plaster dust. The floor crunched wherever he placed his weight.

"So you two weren't…?"

John shook his head.

Cameron sat with her back against the base kitchen units and patted the floor next to her. She took hold of his hand and pulled him over to her and somehow he was sitting next to her with his back up against the doors of the units. Opposite, moonlight shone in through the shattered window panes. It silhouetted the trees on tops far hillside. Above their heads, the red laser cut through the dust filled the air. The sniper was further down the hill way out of the line-of-sight. She rested her shoulder lightly into his. She placed the lit cigarette between his fingers. John hadn't smoked in years, but he brought it to his lips and inhaled. He coughed but carried on smoking it. Cameron took out another cigarette and lit it up.

"So, I'm the worst mother in the world?"

His hands trembled. Shaky spirals of smoke rose from the burning tip of his cigarette, they were silvered in the moonlight. He felt his jaw loosen up enough to talk.

"You were going to send your daughter outside to kill Larry. I'd say 'worst mother' is about right. She's twelve years old for f…," John nearly said, 'fuck's sake' but he stopped himself, this was part of the chapel.

Cameron pressed her shoulder a little more firmly against his. It was warm, and it dug softly into him.

"Larry? Is that her ex-husband's name?" Cameron replied, disinterestedly.

"Aren't you even worried about your child being out there?

Camron slowly turned her head to face to him full on. She looked him dead in the eyes.

"Let me tell you something, pastor-preacher man, I never had a parent. My man wasn't around for me and I gave birth to Ambe in the middle of goddamn war zone. Me, and that kid managed to stay alive for thirteen years. So don't ever tell me what I did was wrong or evil."

" I never knew know my mom and dad either, but I have never killed anyone, it's about choices," said John.

"You don't understand."

Cameron ran her front teeth over her bottom lip. Her brown eyes were so big and soft, they almost glowed. Maybe she was crying a little. It felt like she peering inside him trying to figure out who he really was. John turned his head away and deliberately banged the back of his skull on the base unit door behind him.

"She's a girl. That's a dangerous, grown man out there armed with fucking hunting rifles, how do really feel about that?" Said John.

Cameron pulled back and sniffed and stifled a laugh. "I suppose I better tell you now, rather than you find out later. When Amber was four years old, she was involved in a very serious accident. I didn't have much choice, it was either do what I did, or she was going to die. May your god forgive me for what I did, if he exists, but I don't think he will forgive me."

"Nobody's beyond God. What do you mean?"

"Amber's beyond human and, that's simply what I mean. But I've done worst things because I had to and no one else would. "

"What are you?"

"I'm not the Devil if that's what you're asking."

"Well?"

Cameron shook her head, slowly. "That's my daughter, you remember that."

She glanced up. A proud smile spread across her face.

"The laser sight's out. She'll be dragging his unconscious body back through the bush now. My beautiful little huntress."

A cold shiver ran up John's spine.

Camron stood up and flicked the switch on the kettle. She picked up a dish towel and calmly rinsed the plaster dust and pieces of shattered tiles out of the inside of three cups. She dried them with a dish towel and hung it neatly back over the rail to dry.

When she handed John the coffee, it was hot and the warmth flowed through his body. There bits of something sharp under his backside. He swept them away with his hand and sat back down. He kept himself from the sheet covering Cassie corpse. Blood pooled on the lino in front of her. He willed himself to stop shaking, he had to think.

Cameron stood in front of him holding her coffee with one hand, her other rested on her hip.

"What about Cassie?"

"What about her? She walked into in the line of fire. I'm sorry, I know she was your friend."

"Are you just going leave her body there?"

"Good as anywhere else. When he-ex comes around, he'll be ranting to the cops about a twelve-year-old girl, who took out a grown man with a pick-up full of hunting rifles. Probably spend the rest of his life in the nut house, if this community is lucky enough. Call the cops, you don't have to say anything. Cassie went in to make a cup of coffee for Amber, the jealous crazy ex blew her head off with a hunting rifle and carried on firing into the kitchen."

The sound of Amber's feet stomping on the hallway floor were a lighter, version of Cameron's. The hunting rifle slung over her shoulder seemed enormous on her slight frame. She stepped around the pool of Cassie's blood and scowled at Cameron.

"I left him in the yard with his rifle. I'm keeping this one. He's unconscious. Anything else?"

"No, John's going to call the cops. I'm leaving."

The shock registered on Amber's face. Her eyes grew wide. She glanced over at John, propped the rifle against the units and was about to run to him. John took a step back. His heart was thumping like it was trying break out of his chest. The icy shiver rippled down his spine and back up again.

Cameron made to walk towards the door and step over the plaster that had fallen down from the living room ceiling.

"Wait, you can't leave Amber here with me like this."

"Back in two weeks, when everything's quietened down. If she likes it here and manages not to kill anyone, I might let her stay with you again. She can contact me if you need me. You can buy her some clothes, I'm not having her walking around in some else's sports pants for two weeks. What kind of parent do you think I am?"

"Mom?"

"Ah-ah, don't you 'mom' me, not after what you said. See you in two weeks, take care of him. Maybe this one won't turn out to be a dirt-bag."

With that, she stalked out of the room. John and Amber stood almost perfectly still until they heard her bike fire up and she pulled off down the dirt track that led from the chapel to the road.

"Dad, you need to call the cops. Do you know what to say?

John kept his back against the kitchen units. He held out his hands for her to stay away from him.

"Wait, what has she told you about me?"

John shook his head. "I…I", he stammered

Amber stamped her foot on the floor.

"She has told you hasn't she? I hate her!"

"No, no, you don't hate your mom, we can work this out. This is still the House of God, no one hates anyone here." John said, softly.

Something had caught her attention. She frowned. The kitchen telephone hung in the niche between the kitchen units.

Amber picked up the receiver and punched a number into the buttons. "Hello, this is Pastor John Connor, The Old Chapel North Road. There's been a shooting… a woman's dead…. she's in my kitchen, I've covered her up with a sheet. There's man…the shooter. He's unconscious in my yard. I've taken the rifle off him… I….I." She was speaking in his voice.

When she'd finished she hung up the receiver. John couldn't take another step back he was flat against the cupboard doors. He felt a little dizzy like he was about to fall head first into the table.

"When the cops arrive, let me do the talking," Amber said.


	3. Chapter 3

The cops kept them overnight at the precinct. They had repeated the same endless questions until they had run out of variations. Amber would have won an Oscar for her breakdown when they tried to get her to open up about Cassie's murder. She had produced ID; they had run deep identity checks. They had taken DNA samples, which concluded she could only have been his daughter; Amber had covered every possible base to fabricate her stories before she'd come out here. John had sat, and he listened to everything the cops had said about Amber, and he couldn't begin to argue any it, at least not with them

They kept them until just before midday. Officer Jack Duggan drove John and Amber back to chapel from the precinct. Amber had fallen asleep in the back of the car. She'd turned her body towards John and when the car jolted over the potholes in the road her head came to rest on his shoulder. She snored like a small child. Her cheeks and forehead were flushed hot, and she was sweating. Now and then, her face contorted, as if her dreams were full of bright flashes of light and the sounds of explosions and gunfire. "Metal. Metal," she said, under her breath. Her body twitched. Close up; her skin smelled of burning metal and war. He wanted to push her away, but he fought to maintain the picture of a father and daughter, at least until Duggan dropped them off at the chapel

But from where had Amber come? It boiled down to this: If he'd never met Cameron before in his life how could Amber have been conceived?

Duggan glanced in the rear view.

"Must be a shock to discover had a daughter, John, and on a night like last night of nights for her to meet you for the first time. Whole town's talking. Cassie, what terrible thing for you and her to witness. "

"We'll get over it, it's all you can do isn't it," said John.

He cocked his thumb at Amber.

"I'm not judging you, by the way, Pastor Connor, we all have a past. "

"I didn't think you were judging me. It's all too much for me to take in, in one go."

"I can arrange for one of the trauma support counselors to come over and talk this through with both of you."

John glanced down at Amber's sleeping face, last night there had been a gash on her forehead, now it was gone. Had they noticed? He placed his hand on her forehead like he was feeling temperature.

"No thank you, I have my support network."

"Of course, you're a pastor."

"You should come to one of my services; you'd be welcome."

Duggan snorted down his nose and turned his attention fully back to the road.

They pulled up outside the chapel house. The forensics had finished their job. The front was still part-covered with tape, but the cops had gone. Cars belonging to congregation were parked in the yard.

"They cleared out the journalists before we brought you back," said Duggan

"Thanks," said John.

John shook Amber wake and helped her out of the car. He let her put her arm over his shoulder, at least until Duggan was out of sight and he walked her towards the open door of the chapel house. The front door was wide open. The sound of hammering was coming from inside the chapel house. The sheet of wet plaster that had fallen from the living room ceiling was out in the yard. Broken glass and smashed crockery from the kitchen had been bagged up in trash sacks and placed by the door. John fought the urge to get into his pick-up and drive; he wasn't sure where, but any place except here, just get on the road and run.

Ester Fairfield, one of the older members, came to the doorway. She was one of the last people John wanted to talk to right now. He felt Amber's hand squeeze his shoulder. They kept walking towards Ester; John was not quite sure who was helping who towards the door.

"You poor, poor child," said Ester. She held out her arms, but Amber turned and hid her face against John's chest."

"She needs rest, the police kept us up; questions all night, neither of us could sleep," said John.

"This is a terrible thing, poor Chrissie. And you child, what a night to arrive here."

Amber frowned as if she'd taken an instant dislike to the woman.

"She's strong," said John.

"Kerry Saunders made you beefcake, do you think you can eat anything."

John had been running on half a gallon of black coffee and his last reserves of energy.

A new sheet of plywood wash nailed over the hole in the bathroom ceiling. When John surveyed what was happening in the kitchen, the hammering and fixing stopped. A bullet hole about the size of his fist had cratered into the brick and plaster in the kitchen wall, and the tiles were cracked and missing. It might have been a trick of his mind but the area where Cassie's body had been seemed cleaner, somewhat lighter than the rest of the kitchen floor. The helpers filed out of the kitchen gathered in the living room. At first, some of the women tried to touch Amber on the shoulder, or stroke her hair but she defiantly pulled away. The women stiffened up and nodded to each other.

A pile of girls' clothes which they had brought for Amber had been folded and placed on the sofa. The house smelled of cleaning fluids and fresh lilies and chrysanthemums in the vases on the window shelf. Ester placed the meal on the living room table. Amber sat down, and John nearly collapsed into the chair.

No one said any word. It was like a wall of eyes watching John and Amber eat. John couldn't taste the food he just knew he needed to get it down him to replenish his energy. Everyone was waiting for him to say something. The scrape of the knife and forks were the only sounds in the room. The silent pressure mounted. John lay down his knife and fork and glanced around. He was concentration drawn back to Amber's green eyes. They fixed on him, and he spoke it felt as if hit were to her alone.

"We are all in shock, and in moments like this we have to trust God, I don't know why God permits things like this to happen; I'm just a human being like all of you, and I don't know God's purpose. I know this much, through his love we are all stronger together because his love works through us. We should pray for Cassie, for her family, and we should pray for Larry that one day he finds forgiveness for what he has done."

John reached for his knife and fork.

Ted Fullman had coughed before he spoke. "It seems we never know about anyone for sure, do we pastor?"

Amber's knife froze in mid-air. The blade glinted, and she glared at Fullman. John tapped the side of his against her sneaker for to back off.

"That's right Ted; only God knows who we are and what's in our hearts. Everyone has a past. If you got something to say, say it to my face, or don't even think it."

"What Ted means is Amber is welcome here, perhaps she would like to join the Sparkle Teens, I'm sure she'll make new friends, were going on a day trip soon, would you like to come, honey?"

Amber shoved a fork-full of beefcake into mouth and frowned at Ester as if she'd just said something in Medieval Latin

"We'll think about it. I'd been a tough night. Amber's exhausted, so am I."

Some of them offered to stay over at the chapel, or for John and Amber to spend the night at their houses, but John told them he wanted to be alone. When he went into the bathroom, the bath had been emptied, and like the downstairs, it was spotlessly clean. He turned on the taps and sat at the edge of the bath with his elbows rested on his knees. Amber came to the doorway. With one of the dresses that had been left on the sofa draped over her was white and patterned with yellow and blue flowers; there was a yellow bow around the neck. She held it out in front of her. She bore a fragile smile and was looking for his approval.

"I've never worn a dress before, what do you think?"

Everything that he had bottled up inside welled up forcing itself into words.

"So what are you?" he yelled.

Amber stared at the floor between John's shoes. Amber shook her head.

"Please, just tell me: which dress dad?"

"I don't know anything about dresses, and I don't care. I'll ask you again, what are you?"

Amber shook her head.

John banged the flat of fist down hard on the top rim of the bath before he got up and made for the door. Amber stepped quickly aside to let him pass.

"Get a bath; you smell of blood, everything in my house smells of blood. And do me this favor, unless we're in public, never call me 'dad.' If you want to play this game, make sure you fit in while you're here." John said.

John lay on his bed with his door shut, even then he could faintly hear her sobs as she was crying in the bath. But for now, he kept his heart hard. The edge of his fist throbbed from where he had stuck the bath. The pain seemed about the only real thing there was.

And Amber did try to fit in, for the next two weeks. She ran barefoot in the grass with the other children from the chapel. She helped out in the nursery and pre-school classes. She and the other kids were reprimanded for climbing in Ted Harrington's apple trees. She helped prepare food and cooked with the older children and women. Every day Amber visited John's nearest neighbor, eighty-year-old Josh Bennings, and she walked Bobby, his Golden Labrador, and she brought Josh his groceries and newspaper from the stores. She quickly learned to sing every hymn put in front of her, and, she had the most beautiful, melodic singing voice. When it was only her and John, and no one else was around, she taught herself to play the piano. It was clear she possessed restless energy, and it was, tree by its fruits, directed to good. She appeared to go to bed, and she should and get up early in the morning, and John t woke up to the smell of waffles, eggs, and freshly ground coffee. The otherwise empty house he'd been rolling around in on his own for the last two years, came alive with her humming a song or a piece of piano music. The other children said they liked Amber and the adults began to tell him he was blessed.

To John, it was distant and as if all was viewed through a mirror darkly; he was someone else watching his life as it happened. Gradually, the reality and the illusion she conveyed converged, and he could not help but begin to like and feel for the child. The more he saw and felt a growing warmth within him and connection to her. The sense of distance began to fade, and he discovered for himself the luxury of forgetting; forgetting for five minutes, for ten, and then a whole hour of what he'd witnessed in the kitchen on the night when she had arrived in the town. It was blessedly absent from his mind.

One evening, Amber had gone with some of her new friends to visit the school and stayed over for supper with their family. The parents had brought her back. It wasn't as though she was ever going to go to that school, but she kept up the pretense, but when she and when she walked into the living room it was as if she was brimming with sunshine. That's when all the hurt and confusion John's his heart tried to melt away.

John stood by the mantelpiece and picked up the picture of Sarah.

"My mom's told me about her, I'd like to meet one day," said Amber

John passed Amber the picture, and she held gently.

"She's in a mental hospital, never coming out. I never want to meet her. I keep the picture up there to pray for her, to try to forgive her. It's the way make sense happened to my life."

"It must have been so difficult for you when you were my age."

"You mean like when I confided to my foster brother that my mom's a whacko terrorist and she believes killer robots from the future are going to wipe out the planet that's why she and this guy when on a killing spree. Then my foster brother tells someone else that my mom's this dangerous nut called Sarah Connor, soon the whole school knows, so I get another new name, and a new set of foster parents in another state. And so it goes."

"You mom didn't have time to learn much about anything. She didn't know about know my mom and me, we're the good guys, and there's a lot of us. We kick the bad Metal's ass."

Amber reached out to touch the back his hand, but he took a step back.

"Don't! "What happened my mom, it's happening to me now isn't it?"

"It doesn't have to. I'll stop it."

She'd sounded like a child, who didn't comprehend the nature of the impossible and was promising to deliver it.

"So, how did I meet your mother, Amber?"

"You met her the other night when she knocked on your front door. You two just haven't got together yet. Do you like her?"

John shook his head in disbelief; it was the crazy he couldn't get his head around. He held his hand out for the photograph and placed it back on its spot on the shelf above the fireplace.

He glanced at the clock. It was five minutes to ten.

"Time for you to go to bed."

"Good night," she said.

The owl in one of the trees by the creek sounded like it was calling his name. A moth fluttered around the living room light casting the wild shadows of its frantic wings across the ceiling. John sat at the table under the light and thought. Here was the solution to the seismic question he'd wrestled with all his life: what if his mom was sane and everything he'd read and heard about the things she believed was the truth? Amber was the evidence he'd always longed for but had never dared to hope. What's more, from what he could gather, Amber was half-human, and that half was of his flesh and blood. He was acting like a complete jackass towards her.

John pulled open a drawer in the dresser. He took Sarah's little silver cross and chain and wrapped it around the frame of Sarah's picture, so the cross hung over the top right corner. He crept up the stairs and trod softly over the boards on the landing. He was going to place it on Amber's bedside table, so when she woke in the morning, she would see it. He opened the door a crack and peered in to check she was asleep. Her bed was empty, the window was open, and she had gone.

The night air was still warm. John walked on the path in the woods behind the chapel and shone his flashlight into the woods. "Amber. Amber!" He called out into the darkness. The only reply was the crickets chirping in the dusty grass and the waterfalls splashing over the rocks in the creek. He walked on deeper into the woods, the heavens above him were lit by a faint sliver of moon and star-fire. He stepped over a twig and walked towards the boulders and cliff face of the rock outcrop at the bottom of the hill.

The twig cracked, and he spun around. His torch beam played over Amber's face. A deer hunting rifle was slung over her shoulder. She wore black sports pants and dark hooded top. Here feet were bare. The rifle was the second rifle Larry had been carrying; he'd seen Amber with it in the living room after she had dragged Larry's unconscious body down to the yard. It had gone out of his mind, and it hadn't occurred to ask her what had happened to it.

"What are you doing out here?" asked John.

"I couldn't sleep."

"You need to come back inside; you shouldn't be out here. Give me that thing!"

Amber stepped forward and handed the rifle to him. She looked hurt and afraid or what he was going to say.

"Is this what you do every night?"

Amber nodded.

"You just can't do this, do you understand? I know you are different, but if you stay with me, you do not do this. Come on, with me, back in the house."

"But…"

"No 'buts.' Now! And first thing tomorrow morning, we're handing this rifle into the cops. Larry had a pick-up full of guns, I tell them Larry brought it out here with him, and we found it in the woods. "

Later, John lay in his bed staring out of the window as the stars traveled their paths across the heavens. At about one-o-clock, there was a crack of Josh Benning's old shotgun. He was shooting rabbits in the yard. Josh always shot rabbits when he couldn't sleep. John tiptoed across the hall. Amber was in her bed, and if she wasn't asleep, it was a fair imitation of it. She must have seen the picture; she'd moved it to her dressing table. Back in his room lay down, and smiled. He watched the transient stars until his eyes closed.

The next morning John didn't have to call the cops. It was only just getting daylight when he was woken from a fitful sleep by banging on the front door. It was Officer Duggan, and his face was as a grim as hell.

"Sorry to have to tell you, John," he said," but last night, Old Josh Bennings; murdered. Someone broke into his house, Old Josh managed to fire off one barrel of his shotgun but the maniac threw him through a timber wall, and then he tore that dog of his apart like it was a piece of meat. None of the guys at the precinct have ever seen anything like it in or lives. I thought that you might want to be there to comfort the relatives."

Duggan looked over John's shoulder; Amber was in night dress sitting on the stairs.

Do you hear that young lady? Well, you shouldn't have done. You forget telling anyone what you overheard me telling your dad.

Amber stared at her bare feet.

"I'm sorry, sir."

"It's alright; I'm sorry you had to hear it, child. Don't worry we will catch whoever did this."

After Duggan had gone, glared at Amber through the spindles on the stairs. She was stunned. She slowly turned her head to look at John.

"Wait, you do think I did that to Mr. Bennings, do you? …I couldn't, I …cared for the old guy, and his dog, Bobby, he was lovely…Dad...oh no, come on please."

He was trying to formulate his thoughts enough to say, "No, that's not what I was thinking, at all," but his mind wasn't quick enough. Amber ran back up the stairs and slammed her door.

Moments later the door flung open again, and she stomped back down the stairs and stood in front of him. She held out her iPhone, it was scuffed and dirty, and the glass was cracked. There was only one icon on the otherwise black screen. It was a sphere of blue light

"Last, night: what you saw me doing: it's called 'Patrol .' It's to keep you safe, and if you hadn't ordered me back into the house, I had have been out there, and I might have been able to stop that thing that killed Josh. I don't know; maybe I'd have had a chance…. That was what I was doing!"

John held his hands out.

"If you don't believe me, call mom. Go on call her. Take it, press the blue button."

"Amber…please, I didn't mean."

"Dad, you're going to have to call her anyway. I'd die trying, but I can't realistically protect you from this."

"From what?"

"It's a Triple-eight, a time rouge. When your name and picture appeared in media after Cassie's murder, it picked it all up. It came here to kill you. To a Terminator; that kind of media exposure, you might as well be lit up by lights that you can see from space. To it, hunting John Connor is like when humans go after deer. That's why I came out here. But it knows I'm here and its calculated that I'd stand the very slightest chance against it, probably less than five-percent, so it's trying to draw me out to take me down on its staking ground before it comes after you. That's why it killed Josh and Bobby."

"A time rogue- Tripple Eight-what?"

"Terminator."

" Mom- that's what she called the robots."

"It's all true dad."

When John called Cameron on Amber's iPhone, there was long crackling pause and hiss of static.

"Hello, this is Cameron," she said.


End file.
